The After
by 26Chapters
Summary: Michael died breaking Sara out, or did he? Paul picks up the pieces. I'm a total MiSa shipper, so naturally, this story is of that pairing.


Warning

The following, as presented individual contents, are not stories. By definition, they are in fact stories, but I have the privilege of being author and so claim the right to not refer to them as such.

The chronicles as they appear, are vital for the real thing, the actual story. Had they not been chronicled, the result would be a novel. I didn't ever aim for a novel, I aimed for a beautiful piece of writing that I could extract from my brain without going into the details of what happened before the time.

Each chronicle gives a little part, and is poorly written, but that is not the matter, my goal is the end part, which is really the part that counts. Even though these parts seem to present themselves as being about a certain character, no one character owns any part. They are suggestive of being a love story, but be fooled not, they are not a love story. Some parts imply a good ending, and indeed the final part is better than best, but again be fooled not.

As the chronicles are not a love story, the actual thing is neither. The actual story is not about love or pain, it is about the in-betweens, the unspoken. A truly beautiful ending to a vague start, because perfection does exist in my head. And for as long as I can, I will exercise my right as author to paint out what the real world isn't able to.

Lastly, the real thing contains of 3 parts only, each depicting what it does for the character in question. I do not promise for it to be an answer to all that has been going on, or filling in the big blanks that the chronicles had, it is only what I promised it. Think of it this way, you can't win a race without having competed. These 3 parts are the winning prize, the competition was never the goal.

Enjoy the read...

MS. Hybrid

_**The Day before Day 1...**_

'I can help you.'

She spun around to see who had spoken. Though nothing could surprise her anymore, his presence surprised her. Now wasn't the time to see him, or ever for that matter. Her face hardened.

'Hello, Sara,' he gave her a smile. It was genuine, he was glad to see her, and she knew it. She wanted to ask how he found her, why he even found her, but it didn't matter, not a thing mattered except what happened. She turned away from him, returning to staring out into the day.

'You must be wondering what I'm doing here,' he said. She wasn't, she wasn't wondering, and she didn't want to know, it could be for various reasons, reasons she didn't want to know, because they could disrupt the little peace she had left.

'I can help you. Just like I did before, I can help you. Let me help you,' he insisted, and she was left to wonder why helping her was so important to him.

'Why?' she asked.

'You know why,' he replied. His answer made her remember. Funny, she thought, how one thing could cause pain and amnesia at the same time, but somehow failed to erase the difficult parts.

She wasn't going to go into the why, but she did want to know, 'For how long?'

'Forever,' he replied without skipping a beat.

_**Day 1...**_

She didn't talk to him the whole ride, her eyes were fixed outside the car window. The only comfort he got was that when he told her to climb in the car, she chose to sit in the passenger seat than the backseat. It proved in his mind, that she was at least comfortable around him, even if it wasn't trust. The number of words she'd used totalled to seventeen. His questions, she didn't answer, she didn't tell him anything, or ask anything. He understood her reluctance to talk, but the part of him that controlled his feelings was deeply uncomfortable. He couldn't help thinking that he had destroyed any hope of any kind of friendship they could've had. So he talked, the whole ride home, he talked about things that held no importance, things that were designed to spark conversation. Nothing he said made her respond, but he didn't give up, this was Sara after all.

When they reached his state-given house, his mini mansion, she looked at him, and he told her that she and him would be living there until he had sorted her life out. She opened the door and got out of the car. He followed suit. She didn't have luggage save for the medium sized suitcase and a medium-sized duffel bag. He carried both inside, showing her to the room she would be sleeping in for the duration of her stay.

'Feel free to do whatever it is you want,' he told her as she stepped into the room, looking about it.

'And whatever you need, just ask.' He wanted her to need a lot of things, for him to be the one she asked for help. She stopped her looking around, and looked at him instead.

'Can you leave please?'

It wasn't what he expected, but it didn't surprise him either. She was going through possibly the worst time of her life, she was allowed to want to be left alone, after all, he had found her by herself when he went looking for her.

He did leave the room, taking the door with him. He came back to her door after fifteen minutes to ask if she wanted anything to eat, to drink, just anything. Nothing came from the other side, or the next ten times he returned with petty reasons. When night fell, he realised that she must've fallen asleep a long time back, for there was no sliver of light coming from under the door. He decided he wouldn't be returning until the next morning.

_**Week 1...**_

She only left the room for the bathroom when he was around. When he wasn't home, she ate, he knew because he always left food in Tupperware for her in the fridge, and when he returned, they were washed and packed away, and the average mess he left behind was always gone. By the fourth day, he learned to clean up as best as he could after himself in the kitchen, so she wouldn't think he expected her to clean up. Everyday before he left, he knocked on her door to greet her good morning and goodbye, something he guessed was what a married man did with his wife before leaving for work, so he stopped, he stopped doing it that way. When he came home, he would knock and say he was back and that he would be starting dinner soon, or ordering something, he stopped doing that too. He replaced his old method by simply knocking and saying his greetings. It made him feel like a jerk, but he knew that going back to what he did before would harm her more than not.

On the sixth day, she opened the door for him, she stood in the door looking up at him to hear what he had to say.

'Morning,' she said to him. He noted that she looked fresh, like she had taken a shower in the time he had, her hair looked damp though tied in a bun behind her head, and she smelled of sandalwood.

'Morning Sara,' he was pleased to see her after so many days of not.

'Can you get me something from the pharmacy please?'

'What is it?' During the day, he barely had time to have lunch, most of the tiny affairs were handled by his assistant. This, he wouldn't let anyone else handle, just because she asked him to do it.

She produced a piece of paper, holding it up for him to see, 'Prescriptions I need.'

'Okay,' he took the note from her hand, 'Are you having breakfast?' he opted for omitting the 'with me'.

Her answer was a short and curt 'No' followed by the shutting of the door in his face. Even after several minutes had passed, he still thought it really didn't happen. He so thought it would be the beginning of a new chapter for them, he guessed he hoped too far. Their routine wasn't broken yet.

_**Month 1...**_

At the end of the second week, she was having breakfast with him. He talked, but wasn't sure whether she listened or heard him. He talked about work, about hiring house help, he told her he thought of getting a dog, and maybe a bird, he liked birds. He didn't need to knock at her door in the mornings anymore. Before his alarm went off, he heard her. In the early morning, as late at night when people were snugly in their beds, even the tiniest of sounds could be heard, much more for a man who had the training he had, and in his previous line of work. On the third day of the third week, they were having breakfast, each on the one end of the dining table, she spoke. Other than her usual 'Thank you', she actually spoke a whole sentence to him.

'I have to see a doctor from next week. How do we go about that?'

Inwardly, he smiled at her inclusion of him in her plan, though really there was no way around it, still he was warmed.

'You may leave the house, you know that Sara,' was what he said to her.

'I know, but I had to ask.'

'Do you want me to take you?' he asked after a while, after they resumed their eating. Sara was an eater, he liked that she ate, she didn't eat overly much or alarmingly fast, she just ate.

'I don't know,' she replied. And that rounded up their conversation. He left for work and when he came back, she had made dinner for a change. That night, he didn't say a word about work, he sat and indulged in the food she prepared for him. He told himself she prepared the food for him. He went to bed a happy man that night.

Things started to change by the fourth week, he saw more of her when he was home, and she made breakfast and dinner, she also seemed to be listening to him whenever he started talking.

'I don't like this,' she confessed one night during dinner. Because she was looking into her plate, he thought she meant the food.

'What's wrong with the food? I like it.' He was being honest, the food was great.

'No, I mean this, what we are doing.'

'Having dinner?' he stopped eating.

'Yes,' was her answer, 'I hate that we eat in here. Can't we eat in the kitchen? There's a table in there.' There was, a round table that could seat a common family of four, depending on how many dishes of food they had.

'Okay.' He wanted her happy, and if eating in the kitchen made her happy, than that he would allow her.

And they were doing so well, he couldn't afford to ruin it.

_**Month 2...**_

The following month brought some very interesting changes. A day into the first week, and the paperwork for her exoneration came through, and two weeks after that, she was in a foreign office signing documents for the return of her previously suspended license. She was in his office (at home) when he got a call from an official to be a Senator.

'You're going to be Senator?' she asked in surprise. By now, they were pretty much friends, she liked to barge in his office unannounced at random times and just sit there. Sometimes he would ask for her help, others she would ask him work related questions, there were even times when he was so buried in work, that time escaped him, and she had to come in and ask him to take a break. In those times, he would always make a sandwich while she disappeared into her room. They didn't have a routine anymore, Sara surprised him. She surprised him on the nights he volunteered to cook, and they sat down at the round table in the kitchen and she sought out all and any green thing in her plate, dumping it in his.

'I think so,' he said. He knew so, it was pretty much a done deal.

'Liar, you know how these things are, they wouldn't have called you if it wasn't a done deal.' She sat across him, the table between them.

'Okay fine,' he threw up his hands in mock defeat, 'I'm going to be Senator.'

'You'll obviously have to move, you can't live here right?'

He frowned at her question. Realising that there was nothing tying him to her anymore, she was obviously free to go. She could be a doctor again, she could move to any part of the country she wanted.

'No, I can't.'

'It's nice here, I like it here,' she looked around the office. That was the moment to enquire, but he didn't. If he asked where she would live, she'd assume he wanted her gone, and if he asked her to come with him, she would be spooked and it would ruin the relationship they build. He couldn't ask her anything because he would lose her.

'What do you think of a senate home?' he chose his words carefully. If she wanted she could find other questions in there.

'I've never lived in one. A governor's mansion I'm very familiar with though.' He didn't get much of an answer. He let it go, the next day, he took her to the doctor and life was back to normal. Normal for them.

_**Month 3...**_

She was constantly throwing up everything she ate. He worried about her. When he heard the toilet flushing at three in the morning, he always debated whether to go to her or not. They lived in separate wings of the house, but it wasn't big enough to hide that she was a frequenter to the bathroom. He didn't ask about it, and she didn't mention it. At breakfast he noticed how pale she looked, paler than her usual paleness. His conclusion was that she was finally in the acceptance stage of her loss.

'I'm sorry,' he said one night. Instead of his office, she adopted the living room as her new space to hangout. She liked to watch E.R. and a funny (not hilarious, but strange) show he never got the name of, because he never saw the opening credits. She was always dressed well, and asked him to watch (not with her). Sometimes he did, other times, he sat in the next sofa and read the paper.

'What for?' she looked from the screen to him.

'I never actually said it,' he said, 'So I'm sorry.' He couldn't say the words out loud, he couldn't mention her dead husband without her permission. She considered him, 'Sit down,' she patted the empty spot next to her. Hesitating, he did.

'You're going to be inaugurated as Senator next week,' she said, 'and you'll leave this place.' He decided that her words were a goodbye, 'I'll always help you when you need it.'

'Paul, you like me right?' it was a question, yet it was really a statement. He didn't like her, not anymore. In the months she included him in her life, he grew inexplicably in love with her, all he knew was that one morning, he awoke and the realisation hit him. For the purpose of a civil conversation however, he said, 'I do.'

'I'm sorry if I made you think...I can't be that person. I just...love him still.' She spoke more that night than in all her days there combined. She used full sentences, and she told mini stories, gave explanations, thanked him, and most importantly called him a friend. He listened to her talk, only asked when absolutely necessary.

'I'm here anyway,' he allowed himself to get carried away and take hold of her hand. To his surprise, she didn't flinch, or pull away.

'I know. Thank you.'

Some days later, he grew curious as to why she was always going to the doctor, so he asked, 'Are you sick?'

'Why do you ask that?' she was brushing her teeth after breakfast. It couldn't even be called breakfast for her. Out of nowhere, all she wanted to eat were Cherrios and mixed muesli. The thing with the muesli was however very funny, she only picked out the almond nuts, the rest she made him eat. Why didn't she just buy almond nuts instead of muesli, he asked, because, she replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, it wasn't the same. And no it wasn't, because then he wouldn't get to eat the rest of the content, be part of her life in a small, but particular way.

'You see a doctor. And even though you don't anymore, you were always throwing up.'

'I'm not sick,' she answered him.

'What's wrong with you then?' he wouldn't let it go.

'Some things are unique to women only.'

'Oh.' He thought that was explanation enough.

_**Month 4...**_

The new home was no different from the previous house, except the rooms were bigger, and each came with its own bathroom. The landscape was the same. He had to hire help, because it was unwritten. He wished she was there with him, even if just to eat the string cheese she put in her salad only to not eat it. He kept daily telephonic contact, keeping up with the developments in her life.

'I'm having a baby,' she announced over the phone. He had no reason to panic, he wasn't the father, but if he wasn't, who was? Did she already meet someone or was it just a one night thing?

'You're pregnant?' he wanted to be clear that she was, and not thinking of adopting one.

'Yes,' she had a smile in her voice.

'How? When?'

'I've always been Paul, I just didn't tell you.'

'Why?' He relaxed though.

'Because...'

He grilled her lightly some more, until he found himself smiling at the prospect of a baby. Yes, it wasn't his baby, but he liked the idea of being a something to a baby. She said she was happy where she was, the place was just enough for her, but some time later when she could, she would go visit him at his grand house. He got two dogs, both golden retrievers he adopted from an animal shelter. He named them Red and Hands, when she laughed and asked him why, he told her a lame non-true story about his parents. He knew that if he told her that at times, depending on the light, her hair was a beautiful shade of red and he loved that best, or that her hands were his favourites on her, she would not feel comfortable. Plus, he wouldn't secretly delight in having her there with him at all times. Some time before the fourth month ended, she did go see him. They walked around the property, and he could make out the bump of her belly. He didn't know whether she was trying to conceal it, or if she was just a careful dresser, for she didn't look pregnant. He jokingly asked her to live with him again, then more seriously told her that he missed her, and her weird eating habits. She missed him too, she said, but she couldn't live with him again, she had to gather her life, and live alone. She told him how she missed her husband, the different ways in which she would remember him, then cry. He held her, later they had lunch in the garden. She didn't eat much, until he got out the packet of muesli he kept for the simple reason of hope. He was afraid she didn't like muesli anymore. He needn't have worried, she made him pick out the almonds for her.

'You're my best friend,' she said after detaching herself from him, she'd snuck him into a surprise hug.

He didn't want to be her best friend only. And so the fourth month ended.

_**Month 8 and 3 Weeks...**_

By now he knew everything about her. He learned the she didn't really like E.R. as a show, she just liked seeing the medical conditions, and that she preferred Canadian TV shows to the American ones.

'If I were Canadian, I wouldn't think of myself as American,' she told him one day.

'Don't they qualify to be American?'

'America doesn't qualify to have Canadians on their team.' He had other ideas, but he entertained her.

He got the call just six minutes into his meeting with the President. It wasn't just him of course, other high profiled people were there in the meeting. It couldn't wait, his best friend was in labour, the woman he loved was having their baby.

'We'll share him,' she'd suggested, and he accepted right away.

He drove dangerously fast, making it to the hospital in under eleven minutes. He wasn't allowed inside the delivery room.

'He's so small,' was the first thing he said to her when they let him in. Her hair was all over the place, and she had sweat on her forehead, she looked amazing in his eyes.

'People normally say, 'He's so beautiful,' Paul.'

'He's tiny,' he held the baby in his arms, little fits waving about.

In his arms, he saw the redemption he could never quite find.

_**Month 9...**_

She held a little party for the birth of her son. The old gang showed up, he expected that they wouldn't be too pleased by his presence, but he was wrong. Time and distance did wonders for them, and maybe the common experience of Scylla that magically bound them, erased the past wrongs. Her brother-in-law shared a beer with him, and thanked him for keeping Sara as she was.

'Look man, I know,' he said to Paul.

'Know what?' he didn't know what the other man was talking about. He realised, standing next to the man beside him that to the people around him, he was just Paul, they would never see him as the Senator. It was a good thing.

'About Sara.' Those two words brought him back to the world of the living, they planted his feet firmly on the ground. He loved her, with every living thing in his body he loved her, and somehow her brother-in-law knew. How did he know?

'It's almost like Michael,' as if having heard his thoughts he answered that. Paul looked out to the distance, how was it like Michael?

'He loved her, even before he said it to me, I knew he loved her. He just acted it you know.' Unfortunately, he knew, the time he'd spent around Michael, he discovered that Sara was his life.

'It's okay if you two...'

He didn't know that he needed blessings to be with her if he wanted, which he did. It was the best thing that day however, because after they had all returned to their motels, he asked her to spend a few days with him at the house. She said yes.

_**Month 11 (Early that morning)...**_

Suddenly she was awake. Her heart was pounding in her temples, she could feel the sweat running down her body. She didn't have a nightmare, that much she knew. Her instincts told her to see if her baby was okay. She did, he was soundly asleep. But her heart continued to race, as if she was having an anxiety attack. She didn't understand why she would have an anxiety attack, her world had been a dream for almost a year, she had nothing to fear anymore. She sat on the bed, a hand to her heart and started trying to control her breathing, controlled breathing meant a much more relaxed heartbeat. She breathed in and out, then in and out continuously, until she thought she would be fine. Her even breathing revealed that she was shaking, her hands were shaking, her whole body was trembling like that of someone who was experiencing great cold. When she tried standing the room seemed to spin, and her heart started all over again. She pondered and raked her brain for the sudden unease. The baby made a small noise, she was forced to stand and check on him. He had simply turned his face from one side to the other. She loved her baby so much. The reasoning wasn't as clear as how much she loved him. Perhaps it was that he was the last real part of his father she had left. His father...her heart beat harder, followed by the strongest urge to fall down and cry.

He was dead. She realised that he was really dead. She would never see him again. He was dead. That was why she was having an attack. The unreal part of her life was over, it was time to face reality.

Tears weren't enough for her, and she could swear she felt physical pain as well. The day wouldn't be a good one for her.

_**Month 11...**_

She found him in the study.

'I'm a good mother right?' she stood in the door way, something seemed off. It was his day off, he had the whole day to spend at home. That was the first time he was laying eyes on her that morning.

'The best.' It was true, she never left her three month old baby for a second, she breast fed him (rarely in his company) and gave him as much love as she had. When he was home, he spent time with the baby, and she cooked, she did trivial things, just so he could have time with their baby.

'He has my ears,' he joked one time.

'Your ears are big.'

'Yes, his will be too.'

He loved having the baby around, it made him believe that they were the perfect family, the three of them.

'It's just...' she sniffed. He walked to her at the door, he could tell that she had been crying.

'Sara what's wrong?' he was panicking, she never cried in front of him, it had to be serious.

'He's dead.'

'Brady?' it was shocking to even pronounce his name.

'Michael,' she started sobbing, he tried to embrace her, but she backed away.

'Please look after him.' She walked away before he had the chance to ask her if she would be okay on her own. It hit him that what Sara was doing all those months before wasn't grieving, it was part of the pain she felt, and the nothingness she couldn't get rid of. Maybe that morning when she woke up, it came to her the one person who she loved more than any other was no longer a part of her life. Maybe the absence of a baby in her belly made her focus on what she had, and what she lost.

He waited the whole day, and when night fell, he put little Brady in his cot in her room. He waited more for her. It was only as he was planning on going to find her that he heard doors opening and closing. He couldn't go to her, if she wanted him, she would come to him. He didn't sleep a wink that night.

_**Year 1...**_

She was back home, and he didn't miss an opportunity to be there with her. He visited, and bought toys for the fast growing baby. She didn't complain, his company was always welcome, he was such a good friend she kept saying time after time. The baby was familiar with his voice, his face, he even loved Red and Hands. Sometimes, when Sara was at his home instead, they let him be babysat by the dogs, they didn't sit too far away and ignore him. She suggested that he go out on dates, that one day he could be governor, or president, that people generally liked leaders who were married. He declined smoothly. The baby was being bottle fed now too, because she would start looking for a job soon and she would have to leave him in day-care or somewhere.

'I can't imagine leaving him. I don't think I can.'

He talked her down, made her realise that she was doing the right thing by going back to work, it would benefit her and the baby, plus she would be doing something she really loved. She agreed to ask around, but it wouldn't be a definite thing.

Did she really think he needed to get married, he asked. It was only fitting, she replied. He considered asking her out on a real date other than the pretend that had been going on in his head. He knew she didn't feel the same way he did, his love wasn't reciprocated, but hope was alive and well in his heart.

'What was it about Michael?' they were past the tiptoeing stage, she still didn't talk much about him, didn't give much away, but he was good to ask, 'I mean you worked there before he came, and I'm sure there were some decent ones.'

'He was Michael.' Apparently to her that was explanation enough. He didn't push further.

The month that completed the year fled by, and he was still hoping she would see him differently.

The next month didn't yield much, just that she frequented his house less, she was busy, the baby kept her busy, and the job hunting did nothing to lessen her load. Every offer he made her of talking to someone who could hire her in a hospital, especially the private ones, she refused.

'I really want to do this myself,' she insisted over coffee at her place. She didn't drink coffee, not since he knew her when he thought about it.

'I know, but I want to help you,' he said to her.

'I have to be independent at some point.'

It got him thinking that he probably dominated her life, that's not how he ever wanted her to feel about him, it would certainly not strengthen the chances of her falling in love with him.

'You're very independent,' he started teasing, 'being a single mother should say it all.'

'I'm not that!' There wasn't reproach in her voice, but he knew that if she spoke the words, 'single mother' out loud, it would remind her of the reality of her life. Not that she ever forgot, that much he was sure of, she didn't need to tell him anything, but sometimes, remembering was the better thing not to do.

'Fine,' he replied seriously, 'you're not independent then.'

Her laugh was all he needed, plus she did it so well, her laughter was always something welcome in his world.

_**Part 1**_

_**The 1**__**st**__** Day of the Beginning...**_

_**Part 1...**_

It's a very good day, she decides. For months she didn't want to get back into the real world, she was afraid that at the first sign of anything medical in her hands, she would think of Michael, and break down. But now that she's received the post at St. Catherine's, the real world doesn't scare her anymore, if anything, she's looking forward to being a citizen of the world again. It's an exciting thought, so much adrenaline is rushing through her body, containing it isn't what she opts for. She has to share it, for that reason she is rummaging through the kitchen cupboards in Paul's house looking for a snack while she waits for him. He's always been there for her, sometimes she felt really bad that she couldn't love him back, it would be so much easier if she did. She wants to share her joy with him, the same way they've been sharing their lives for the past year. He supported her, cared for her in her most lowest of times, of course he didn't know what he really did for her, what his presence meant for her. Maybe one day she could love him the way he deserved.

She finds nothing close to a snack in the cupboards, only crackers which she considers illegal to be classified as a snack. The fridge might be more promising than the cupboards. She wonders how he manages when his helpers aren't around. He used to be better at organizing himself, but life with her ruined him, it became almost like he depended on her for most of everything. She looks inside the fridge, but at first glance already, nothing satisfies her want. She closes the door gently, then looks at her watch for the time. Twenty minutes ago she'd arrived, going to set Evan down in the cot in the spare room Paul said she could keep it in. He would be home soon, she knew. In the meantime, she would check on her baby. At five months (almost six) his sleeping patterns vary, as if he purposely plans when to sleep, and for how long.

Just as she suspected, he is wide awake in the cot. She picks him up into her arms. He has his grandmother's eyes. Michael's mother. Sara always thought it ironic that her very son had the exact same eyes as the only other person she shot and killed.

'You awake already? That was fast,' she found that talking to the child was a therapy she could never explain. Evan waved about in her arms, he liked to be held, and she liked to hold him, always finding a spot in her face to pick at if not her hair.

'You're not hungry are you, because I haven't eaten. Paul has no decent food, can you believe it? You can? Yeah, ' she inserts her forefinger in his closed palm, 'me too.'

If he didn't show up soon, she would be forced to make a bottle of formula. Sometimes, she sat in her own apartment, and wondered if she was taking advantage of Paul. She could leave her apartment one day randomly for Paul's house and would be able to spend close to three months without carrying a thing over there. She had everything she needed, spare clothes, spare everything for the baby. And even when she didn't have any, she would use his. The man obeyed her wish to remain just friends, she trained herself to think that they were just friends, even on his end, but occasionally when his guard was down, she would catch the love in his look, see just how much he desired from her, and as always, she would pretend to not have seen it. He meant so much to her, the time he took her in would've been quite different if had he not been there. She needed a lot, and without his knowledge, he gave it all to her, in some strange way, the love he felt for her comforted her, it erased half the pain of her husband's death.

Her husband, she thinks, moving around the cot, a way or calming the baby down, if only he hadn't died. She had everything before he died, he was her everything, but then he died, without knowing that she was pregnant. Maybe things would've different if he knew that she was going to have their baby. There was not a day she didn't miss him, some days more than others. How could they have had so little time to be, at least she had a baby with him, she wouldn't have survived otherwise. But she couldn't live in the past, not anymore, not since Evan.

She walks out of the room, the baby sound in her arms, going in the direction of the kitchen, the very place that she was in earlier. She hears the voice of Paul coming from the living room area, he sounds like he is talking to someone, it can't be the any of the assistance, she thinks. From the many visits he received from the officials, Sara long ago learned to not call for him out loud, or walk into the room where she thought he was without being careful about it. One time, her hearing failed her, and she walked into the study to find a very important diplomat in there. He assumed she was his wife, and social niceties dictated that she not decline dining with them, even when she hadn't planned on staying that far. That mistake, she will not make again, spending the early evening with boring people is not the way she plans on sharing her important break.

Seating at the kitchen table, she sets Evan down on the table in front of her. He is such a happy child, she observes, he isn't yet at that stage where pain isn't physical, when hurt doesn't mean bumping a toe on a brick, he has at least a lifetime to go until he would experience that.

'Sara?'

She looks in the direction of the door. It's Paul, but his face spells surprise, and she doesn't blame him, he didn't know she would be coming, not that he ever did.

'Hi,' she remains seated, getting the feeling that he wants to ask what she is doing there.

'Hi,' he looks behind him briefly, then walks to the table to her side. Sara watches as Evan pushes himself forward into Paul's outstretched arms, she loves how her son likes contact.

'He really does have my ears,' Paul says, apparently studying the baby's ears, 'Just look at them.'

It's an old thing, Paul insisting that Evan has his ears, and truly because she could never remember her mother's ears, she didn't disagree with him. To date, she still doesn't know whose ears Evan has, just that they are not Michael's. To humour him, she stands to look at the ears, 'I still think your ears are big,' she is looking at Paul's ears now.

'And I still think what I think,' he tells her, 'What are you doing here?'

'Do I need a reason to be here?' she asks. She never did need a reason, if she wanted and felt like it, she would go over.

'No,' he slightly frowns at the thought, 'but maybe today you should've let me know.'

'I never,' she insists again.

'There's something...Sara,' he sighs, 'why didn't you call?'

'Do I ever call? Paul what's going on?' she holds out her arms for her son, if they couldn't stay, leaving now would be the best option.

'It's not that I don't want you here. Look,' he hands Evan back to her, 'someone came to my office today, and I came home with him.'

'So?' she's puzzled with why that is a problem, it has never been.

Paul puts a hand to her shoulder, 'So you should be prepared...'

'For what? You're not saying anything concrete.' He stares at her, she notices it's different from his usual stares, meeting her eyes, but not quite keeping contact for more than a second.

'Should I leave?' she asks him. He doesn't answer, instead his face drops like a child who feared punishment. Freeing one hand from the firm hold she has the baby in, she uses it to lift his face to hers, 'Paul? Should I leave?' she isn't being fair, his answer to that question, she knows will always be no, no matter what or who.

'He's alive,' he whispers. She's not sure she heard or if she read his lips, but the words reach her brain. They mean nothing to her though. Who is alive, she thinks, no one died recently.

'Who?' she asks, and waits for an answer that doesn't come from his mouth.

'Paul?' now she is feeling strange that maybe someone from his past is back in his life. She thinks of all the people he's told her about, his enemies, people he doesn't like, maybe it's one of them. He takes her hand from his face, cradling it gently in his own from a moment.

'Brady's our baby right?' he asks her, need of assurance in his voice.

'Yes,' she nods, but she is secretly feeling nervous at his sudden fragility.

'Okay,' he gathers himself, pulling her hand down with his, 'Come with me.' He leads her back the living room way. Her heart starts to beat faster by the step, fearing the unknown in the other room. He stops just before the reach the doorway space, 'Are you ready?'

'No,' she breathes, holding Evan closer to her. He gives her a tiny smile, maybe meant for encouragement or support. It does neither for her. They step into the room, and she searches on the sofas for the person, he isn't seated, and she looks around the room. Her breathing stops, because seconds later she can feel the strain in her chest. It's him, she is looking at him, that is why she isn't breathing. He has a beard and hair on his head, but it's him. She can't believe it's him even as their eyes meet, and she is looking directly into his eyes. She needs to breathe, she remembers, so she exhales a shaky breath, then another. Her hand grips Paul's, her short nails digging into the flesh. This can't be, she tells herself, he died, it's been a year and two months. He died, she repeats over and over in her head, then realises that she is half shaking, she could easily lose grip of the baby.

'Take him,' she says.

'Hmm?' Paul faces her fully, not understanding what she means.

'Take the baby. Paul, just take the baby.' She holds the baby towards him, her eyes having left the other man in the room with them, he takes the baby, 'Come here Brady.' The unaware child doesn't protest or reject Paul, he accepts willingly. Sara mutters a vague, 'Thank you,' and turns on her heel, leaving the place. She thinks of where she left her car keys, but her head is so heavy she doesn't think much about it, just that she has to leave. She continues going through the kitchen back entrance, heading straight to where she parked her car. The doors are unlocked when she opens them, she sits inside on the passenger seat, her forearm covering her eyes. She wants to cry, but she also wants to leave, she can't do both. And she is angry, she wants to smash something, anything, deciding what she wants to do more is straining her. After a minute of controlled breathing, her choice is to drive home. Sara gets out of her car, she can't go back in the house for her keys. Paul never took his keys in the house with him, he parked his car in the garage and left the car unlocked with the keys on the dashboard. What if you were robbed, she once asked him, he replied that then the government would do everything to get the car back, or otherwise reimburse him, besides, he added, he had security on the property.

She finds the keys on the dashboard as always. It doesn't take long for her buckle herself in and start the car. She's calmed down a notch since the living room and her own car, but the base of her primary emotions is still bubbling in her. Whatever thinking or processing she has to do , she'll do it from home.

_**The 1**__**st**__** Day of the Beginning...**_

_**Part 2...**_

She was right, she did deserve the bath. After six hours of healing her apartment, she ran a bath for herself. It was mostly to wash the dirt away, partly also for clearing her mind, so she could digest the day's events. She did, at least partly, the part about him being alive, having been alive all that time. It was hard to think about, and it broke her to tears.

Now, getting ready for bed (halfway between calling Paul and crying all over again), she really thinks she can face him. If she were to meet him tomorrow, they could sit down and talk. Who was she kidding, if she saw him again, she wouldn't let him out of her sight. There were times she wondered if the love she had for him was normal. It overwhelmed her how much she still loved him, even after he was dead. She couldn't even entertain the thought of having slight feelings for Paul. Her heart held one man, and she expected that she would never get rid of the duffel bag with his clothes. The day she packed them in there, she promised herself that the day she stopped loving him, she would burn his clothes.

Maybe I was wrong, she thinks, tying her hair into a bun, maybe I should've stayed, who knows how he feels. She's missed him, and the first chance to hold him, she runs away like a coward. She was definitely wrong, she decides, her hands covering her face. She could've touched him, held him, her husband who isn't dead. Sara, you're an idiot, that is your husband you left back there. Resigning to having done the worst thing in the world, she walks to every room in the apartment, turning off all the lights, lingering too long in the nursery. Paul helped her decorate it, he helped her pick out the wallpaper for it, he even offered to undo it when he learned that Evan didn't actually sleep in there or spend any time in there.

'He needs his own room,' she explained then.

'He doesn't use it.'

'He will.'

She misses him already, not too much, because he is in good hands, she trusts Paul with everything. With great reluctance, she switches the light off, closing the door. A door opens, she can hear a door opening carefully. Paul, she thinks with a smile, he has her spare key and probably brought Evan. She rushes to meet him at the door, 'Paul?'

It isn't him, the door did open, but it isn't Paul. Her breath catches somewhere between her throat and mouth, 'Michael.'

He doesn't say anything, he takes her in, almost as if he is inhaling her into his lungs, making her feel like she is the infirmary again under his scrutiny. They are breathing the same air, and he is so close to her, if he disappeared again, she wouldn't let the last memory be one that she regrets.

'Say something,' she asks him desperately, half for confirmation that he is real, half to hear his voice.

'Sara,' he says. It's exactly the same way he used to say it, with all the emotion. Unable to hold herself, she erases the distance between to capture his face in her hands. His beard tickles her hands, but she doesn't pay much attention to it.

'Michael.' She moves her hands to the back of his neck, pulling his head down so their foreheads touch, 'Michael.' One of his hands go to the small of her back, while the other comes to feather her cheek.

'Sara,' he repeats more gently, like he would when they were being intimate, 'Sara.' It weakens her, reminding her exactly the kind of man he is, how much this must mean to him as much as to her. Firmly securing her arms around his neck, she lifts her right leg to curl around him, then her left leg. He helps her up, lifting her until she has her legs wrapped firmly around his waist.

'You died,' she starts to sob, 'And you left me.'

'I'm sorry Sara, believe that I am,' his hands run up and down her back, giving her some kind of comfort.

'You left me all alone. I hate you. You hurt me.' She means everything she is saying, she dislikes him very much, but more than she doesn't like him, she wants to feel him against her, to hear him call her name in the way that only he knows how.

'I hate you so much,' she says into his neck, tightening her arms around him, 'You left me.'

'I didn't leave you,' he replies, 'I didn't know.'

'You left me,' her sobbing has turned to full blown crying, wetting him where she made contact with him. Thinking about how she finally realised that he was really dead and would never be back, she slides her body down his, still leaving her arms around his neck.

'You left me.'

'I didn't leave you,' he tells her again. The truth is, she knows it's not quite like that, this is Michael after all, he would never leave her just because he could, there had to be more. The problem is, her broken and overwhelmed heart doesn't want to see reason, it wants to hate and love, want and detest at the same time.

'Just say you did, say you left me.' She wants to hear it from his mouth so she can have reason to recoil from him. He searches her face in the light, bringing his hands to wipe her tears away.

'I left you,' he gives in. At his words, she neglects all physical contact she has with him, walking backward to one of the sofas.

'You left me,' her tears spring back anew, 'and you didn't come back.'

He nods, tentatively taking steps towards her, in case she rejects him. She tucks her legs under her bottom on the one side of the long sofa. Her intention is not to talk about it, she wants him to feel the kind of guilt she could never shake, no matter how many times she told herself it wasn't her fault that he died breaking her out of prison. For as long as she wants to hear it, she will make him say he left her.

'I left you and I didn't come back,' he sits on the other end.

'You died,' she starts to half rock, 'I missed you so much. I thought you were dead.'

'Sara...' he shifts a portion closer to her, 'Sara, please.' She continues to cry, letting the tears fall free, it doesn't matter that she is, it's how she feels.

'I'm happy to see you,' she tells him, 'I am. I'm happy that you are here.'

'Sara...'

'Say you love me,' the words rush out, and she leans her body forward to where he is, 'Say it.'

Without skipping a beat, he says clearly, 'Sara, I love you.'

'Again,' she orders.

'I love you Sara.'

'Hold me,' she leans into him, her head resting below his shoulder. He does, he circles his arms around her, drawing her right onto his thighs.

'I love you,' he says even though she didn't ask it. She knows, because the same way she loves him, he loves her.

'I hate you,' she says, but her arms wound around him, and she curls her body against his, her eyes shutting when she is content in her position, 'I really hate you.'

'I know,' he whispers in her ear.

_**Part 2**_

_**The 2**__**nd**__** Day of the Beginning...**_

_**Part 1...**_

No memory of how they got to her room, her bed, comes to her. The last thing she remembers is being curled into Michael in the sofa, listening to the sound of his breathing, feeling lightly how his chest rose and fell with his breaths. Whatever happened after that, she can't remember, maybe she fell asleep and he carried her to her bed. He must've stayed, and judging by the way her arms are around him, her chin on his shoulder and one of her legs tucked between his, she must've begged him to not leave her. She likes the feel of him. The last time they slept like that, she was distressed, after the incident with T-Bag, he assured her he wouldn't let go of her and she clung to him with every part that could. It feels reassuring and real, the steady beat of his heart against her chest. But some other real thing brings her from her present state, reminding her that she has a child she hasn't breastfed in close to eighteen hours.

'Paul,' she remembers that he has Evan. She can feel milk oozing out slowly from her nipples. Trying not disturb him, she untangles herself from him carefully. And some ancient reflex comes to her in the process, quickly before she thought about it, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek. It's fast and she doesn't really think that she has done it. In another life, she would've woken him up, but today, she needs to correct the part of her life that she left hanging the previous day. Sara reaches for her phone on the bedside table, swinging her legs over the mattress. It reads six fifteen on her phone, right about the time she would normally take her morning shower. Paul, she knows, is already awake, he didn't go to work until after eight, but he was always awake by six. She dials his number, it rings four times before a reply on the other end sounds.

'Paul?' she speaks into the mouthpiece, standing from the bed.

'Morning,' he replies on the other end.

'How is he?'

'He's awake. Can you hear him?' She can hear cooing in the background.

'Are you feeding him?'

'He doesn't like pumpkin does he?' there is a hint of laughter in his question.

'I keep telling you, he doesn't like solid food, except noodles, but you never listen, and you don't watch me feed him either.'

'Yeah well, I've learned now...Are you awake?'

Sara looks behind her, Michael is still sound asleep, 'Yeah,' she answers, 'Are you coming?'

'I have to,' he says.

'I'm literally waiting already,' she says, waiting to hear a click on the other end, so she can hang up. One last time, she looks at the man sleeping on her bed, deciding that he probably wouldn't be awake for a while, who knows what he had to endure to find her.

_**The 2**__**nd**__** Day of the Beginning...**_

_**Part 2...**_

It's much quieter without Evan, she notes, as she lays the table. Looking at it now, she suddenly remembers when she asked Paul to eat with her in his kitchen, at the table just like hers. Part of the reason she bought a round table was that it reminded her of her early days with Paul. In the mornings, she had time to do everything, Evan didn't complain, not a morning baby she always told herself, but his cooing and babbling kept her entertained, even if it was just her subconscious. She's made a mixture of scrambled eggs and cubed sausages for tacos. Paul wouldn't like it, because he likes to have sweet as opposed to savoury breakfast. He'll eat though, she thinks, he always eats.

The table is fully laid, and she sits down in one of the four chairs, beginning to roll up the tacos, rolling up two extra for Michael. They never got to talk about their favourite things in the time he was alive, some things came up, but some were still mysteries to her, maybe he didn't he even like tacos, or had an allergy to sausages. Oh well, she thinks, it's the thought that counts, besides, she has many other options available for food in her apartment.

Halfway through her glass of juice, a knock comes from the door, and she gets up to answer it, taking her glass with her.

'Morning,' she greets him cheerily, realising then that it feels like she last saw him a long time ago, 'Hi Evan.'

'We missed you,' he says looking at the baby, who in seeing his mother started leaning toward her.

'I haven't seen you in ages,' she takes her son from Paul's arms, managing to give him a half hug, 'both of you.'

'You saw us yesterday, before you ran off with my car.' He steps over into the room, closing the door behind him, 'It still functions I hope.'

'It might be missing a wheel or two,' she stares long and hard at her son, she really did miss him, 'Are you hungry?'

'We ate,' Paul tells her, they are walking to the kitchen.

'I made breakfast,' she tells him, 'and I'm not eating alone.'

'Where's ...?' he won't finish the question, he didn't mean to in the first place.

'Asleep. Sit.' They both sit, the baby poking in Sara's face with his chubby fingers.

'So...' Paul looks at the plate laid out before him, then back at Sara.

'I'm sorry,' she starts, 'I shouldn't just have left.'

'You know what this means right?' Sara is expecting that he will comment on tacos for breakfast.

'What?' she sets her glass on the table, adjusting Evan into more comfortable position.

'I'll stop eating a lot of things,' he cuts his taco in half, something she never understood.

'Why, tacos for breakfast aren't that bad, and I didn't eat last night.'

'Not just tacos,' he looks at her, 'everything else. You've officially ruined my eating life.'

'I don't understand.' She doesn't, and suddenly, eating isn't what she wants anymore. Carefully so he doesn't mess, Paul brings one half of the taco to his mouth and takes a bite, chewing slowly. Sara picks up that he is considering an answer, he probably has the immediate answer, but he is looking for an answer.

'You know everything will change right?' he asks after several bites.

Sara's forehead creases, 'What?'

'You and me. And Brady.' He continues to eat his taco, giving her time to process his words. So it's about Michael, how could she not have thought of that, she remembers his question about Evan being their baby yesterday.

'He's our baby,' she uses her reassuring voice, 'we had him together. He'll always be our baby.'

The words are true, and she needs for him to believe that they are true, even though at the moment his life is disrupted in so many ways.

'Paul, trust me.'

'I do, but it's not the same...I can't have anything without thinking of you. I can't believe I've lost you.' He begins on his second half, Sara has still not touched her taco at all, even with Evan fiddling around in her plate. She lets him have his fun, just this once, he can mess up all he wants.

'You haven't lost me. I love you still the same,' she reaches out a hand to his wrist. He looks at it briefly, then looks up to her face. His eyes spot something behind Sara, and his face changes when he sees clearly Michael is standing there.

'You don't believe me?' she sees how his face is different.

'I have to go,' he replies, then continues to finish the last of his taco hastily.

'It's not even eight yet,' she protests, feeling that they didn't get to the bottom of his concerns, or how their lives will be from that point onwards.

'Sara, I just have to go,' he sort of raises his head a bit to hint what he means, but she doesn't catch on.

'Okay,' she pushes her chair out, grasping Evan close to her, he complains at having his food smashing disturbed, 'I'll come see you later?'

He nods as he finishes up the last of his taco. She hands him her half empty glass of juice, he takes it and gulps it down.

'I got the job,' she watches for his reaction.

'Hmm?' he shoots his head up.

'I start next week,' she tells him, making a point to stand close to him, 'I wanted to tell you yesterday, but...'

'That's great Sara,' it comes out as a strangled choke, half unexpected, half surprise, 'I'm so happy for you.'

'Yeah, I'm really happy,' she admits.

'I really have to go, but I'm so happy for you,' he touches a hand to her elbow.

'I know.' It's evident, she can see it now, that he wants to leave, maybe he feels uncomfortable being in her apartment, what with Michael asleep in there, 'I'll come by okay?' They hug briefly, and she watches him disappear from her sight, unaware of the man behind her.

'You've made such a mess,' she turns with the intention of heading to the sink to clean her son up, but she sees Michael and exclaims a little. His presence is a surprise for her, she still expected that he would be soundly asleep until when.

'Michael,' she finally manages after the surprise has worn off. His face is not that of someone who just awoke, she suspects that he woke up a while back. She doesn't know however, that he has been present enough to hear most of her conversation with Paul. His face looks pained.

'What's wrong?' she asks with a concerned face, abandoning any plan she had of cleaning up.

He doesn't answer, but rather looks at her consideringly, as if he is trying to decide on words. She knows the look, he is at conflict, torn between the right thing (which would probably hurt) and the thing he wants. It worries her that he looks that way, that he is thinking that way. He just came back into her life, was there something else that would tear them apart.

'Michael?' she prompts again, hoping for an answer this time. Again she waits, watching him twist his hands together.

'Say something,' she pleads, anymore silence from him, and she will start crying. Even Evan can sense her unease, he squirms uncomfortably, between Michael and Evan, it won't take much than a breath of air to unsettle her. She feels her eyes tearing, and the need to exhale through her mouth, she does.

'Sara...' he says, stepping a fraction forward.

She is suddenly irritated, he can't just imbalance her any time he pleased, 'What is it?'

'You and Paul,' he begins, no doubt finally seeing her seriousness, 'Are you together?'

'What?' she can't believe her ears, can't believe him. It's not the craziest thing anyone has ever asked her, but from him, it almost angers her.

'Are you in love with Paul?' he rephrases, sounding like the words hurt some part of him.

There is a faint sound somewhere in the room, she can hear a kind of buzzing, that's how she knows she's frozen, everything but her brain and heart has stopped working. When she thinks about it, she wonders how she can still be holding Evan when she can't feel anything. Twenty seconds before, she was bordering on anger, now, she's crossed that bridge, the six words he sounded threw her on the other side. She doesn't move, truthfully, she isn't sure she can, her brain is trying too hard not to let her explode, but her heart wants to do the exact opposite. She can't put together why he would ask her that, why he would even consider it a possibility.

'What?' she asks in disbelief, having gathered enough sense to speak. He doesn't answer her, and she knows he couldn't have asked that lightly, but she actually wants him to repeat his question, for him to hear the insanity in his question. He won't repeat it again, she knows, because that's just who he is, and it would be poking an open wound, if she isn't careful, it'll turn into something painful for both of them. It's not how she imagined their first real conversation to be, not in this way at least, about this.

She accepts that he won't say it again, getting her son to say an actual word is the more probable.

'You called me Paul this morning,' he says, taking her by surprise, she didn't think he would talk at all.

'You did,' he says as if trying to convince her, and she thinks she must look puzzled for him to say that, 'When you woke up...and I heard you talking to him on the phone...and, and the baby,' he lightly gestures to the baby.

'Baby?' for a second she has no idea what he is talking about, she did see him gesture to Evan, but her mind went totally blank.

'Brady,' he nods, and just then she remembers that he didn't know about her pregnancy.

'Sit,' she tells him softly, so that it doesn't sound like a command. She wants them to talk, but not in this way.

'Please just sit and eat,' she tries again when he neither moves nor speaks, 'Please.' She looks at the baby in her arms. It's amazing, she thinks, how he seemed to have sensed the atmosphere around him, how he remained calm and still the whole time, without moving about.

'I don't want to eat,' he replies. There's a volume of words in what he isn't saying out loud. He will eat, he does want to eat, but saying he doesn't is telling her that he wants an answer from her.

'Just eat,' she says a little forceful than she intended. She doesn't wait for him, instead, she moves her son to her side, and walks out of the kitchen.


End file.
